


Starting At The End

by mickeymilkchild (kittleimp)



Series: G*llavich Week 2015 [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Ian, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Running Away, communication is important, happy angst, post 5x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:13:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittleimp/pseuds/mickeymilkchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don't know where you're going, but do you got room for one more troubled soul? I don't know where I'm going, but I don't think I'm coming home.” — <i>Fall Out Boy (Alone Together)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Starting At The End

**Author's Note:**

> I just learned that G*llavich Week is a thing, so I'm starting with Day 4 - Jukebox. That means song fics! This one is inspired by Alone Together by Fall Out Boy.

The poster-covered walls of Ian’s room used to be a familiar comfort. Even when he realized that he couldn’t get into West Point, even when he realised that the army wouldn’t take him, he still found safety in the thin drywall that has surrounded him for as long as he can remember.

None of that remains now.

Ian casts a single glance at his old posters, his empty bed, and gives an indifferent shrug. He adjusts the shoulder strap of his army-issue duffle bag, runs a hand through his freshly trimmed hair, and turns away from the room. It still holds two of his three brothers, both fast asleep. Lip’s bed will remain empty until he comes home on the weekend, or until Fiona calls to tell him about Ian’s latest escape attempt.

Then again, he might not bother to rush home at all. Ian’s family has never worried much about him, even in his darkest moments When he disappeared with Monica, it was Mickey who called him ninety-two times, not his siblings. They didn’t even bother to call once. Even during his more recent disappearances from home, they don’t contact him. He wouldn’t hear a word from them until he arrived back at the house.

None of them seem to give a shit.

This is different from the other times that he has disappeared. This time, he’s bringing his medications. No cops are going to drag him back to Fiona in the wake of a public outburst, he won’t come crawling back because he can barely muster the motivation to stand, and he won’t return because he wants to convince his family to move to California. Not this time. He’s got six months of medication stockpiled from when he refused to take them and the specific cocktail that works best scribbled on a piece of paper.

There is one other difference this time around. Ian doesn’t turn left when he leaves the house, he turns right. It’s only a five minute walk to Mickey’s house. This time, the Milkovich is waiting for him with his own bags packed.

When he first called Mickey months ago, he didn’t actually expect an answer. It was something he did at three in the morning in a fit of loneliness and depression. If Mickey hadn’t picked up, he was planning to... do _something_. Ian didn’t have a solid plan in mind. He remembered Monica’s outburst on Thanksgiving well enough to know that he would never let a razor touch his skin, but he knew that he couldn’t stand much more of this waking nightmare. That night would have been his last in that house, one way or another.

Except Mickey answered.

“Ian?” Mickey had said, voice scratchy from sleep and shaking with an emotion that Ian couldn’t identify.

“I’m sorry,” Ian had told him.

He tried to continue speaking, but his voice caught in his throat and all that came out was a sob. The hand he pressed over his chapped lips didn’t do enough to muffle the crying that followed. All at once, the grief and self-loathing Ian had been shoving down and bottling up for months overflowed in a mess of snot and tears. Luckily, he wasn’t making enough noise to drown out Mickey’s reply.

“I know.”

They met up in the dugout twenty minutes later. Mickey told Ian what happened after their breakup, starting with how Sammi had chased him down the road. She was a shitty shot, but got lucky and grazed his shoulder before he got away. Some well-worded threats from Svetlana sent her packing.

Fresh tears sprung to Ian’s eyes as Mickey described trying to dull the pain of the breakup. It was a short-lived bender, filled with drunken hook-ups that Mickey failed to enjoy and ending in a realization that he deserved better.

For the first time, Mickey admitted that he had treated Ian like trash for far too long. What was supposed to be no-strings fucking morphed into something far more important, but before Mickey could get comfortable with that idea, Terry tore everything to shreds. He told Ian about cursing himself for caring so fucking much and crying until he got drunk enough to sleep, about swearing that he would be better if only he could have another fucking chance.

Then he told Ian about the things he hadn’t seen through his mania and depression. The terror of coming out to everyone he knew. How he grew to love his son. Learning to love Ian out in the open, not just behind closed doors. Mickey talked about fear of losing Ian, desperate attempts to rationalize his decision not to take Ian the hospital, and the realization that they couldn’t continue as they were.

Mickey told Ian why he started coddling him. The vitamins, the medication policing, the list of side effects that he had committed to memory. He tried so hard to be the boyfriend that Ian wanted and he didn’t deserve to have it thrown back in his face.

They talked through it, this time trading words instead of blows, and both pretended they didn’t see the other wipe away their tears. Ian began to sob again at one point, finally admitting that he needed help and was willing to give the medication an honest try.

At the end of the conversation, they came to tentative agreement. Their relationship was broken, but not beyond repair. It would take time. They would give it time. As the sun rose over the baseball diamond, Ian pressed a gentle kiss to the lips that Mickey had anxiously bitten red.

That was months ago, before Ian balanced his medication and started living a normal life again. His siblings still didn’t know that he was back with Mickey, but he want to tell them. The true extent of his family’s dysfunctional behavior was finally becoming apparent to him. Mickey wasn’t upset about the choice, not as long as Ian kept himself on track and came to visit when he could.

Now Ian walks up to the Milkovich house to see Mickey packing the final bags into the trunk of a stolen SUV. He grabs Ian’s duffle as soon as he walks up and tosses it in before slamming the trunk.

“You’re late,” Mickey says without any bite in his voice.

“Fiona took forever to go to bed,” Ian explains, placing a light kiss on Mickey’s lips, and follows the Milkovich man back to the house.

Iggy is sitting on the couch next to Svetlana and cooing at Yevgeny, who is half asleep in his mother’s arms. On Svetlana’s other side, Nika is leaning her head against her girlfriend’s shoulder and struggling to keep her eyes open.

“We are ready now?” Svetlana asks softly without looking up.

“Yeah,” Mickey confirms. “Go get in the car.”

She and Nika stand up and shuffle toward the front door without any hesitation. Mickey lingers, looking around the house he grew up in. There are more bad memories than good ones. Terry haunts every corner and poisons anything happy. Mickey would burn the house to the ground if he thought it would be worth it. Finally, he looks to Iggy.

“Dad won’t have a clue where you are,” Iggy promises without being prompted. “I’m going to be out of here tomorrow night anyway, so I won’t be here when he gets back next week.”

Mickey nods, “Good. You’ve got my new number, so just give me a call if you need a place to stay. We can always put a pillow on the couch or some shit.”

“Sounds good to me. Give me a call when you get there and tell me how Mandy is,” Iggy says.

With another nod, Mickey turns around and ushers Ian out of the house. The Milkovich family is close-knit, but goodbye hugs aren’t exactly their thing. Then again, they should definitely be a thing in the Gallagher house and Ian didn’t even leave a note. It isn’t like they’ll give a shit.

Ian buckles himself into the passenger seat while Mickey climbs through the driver’s side door. He starts the SUV and pulls away from the curb without any fanfare, leaving their neighborhood behind in a matter of minutes. As they pull onto the highway that will lead them toward Indiana, Mickey reaches over to lace his tattooed fingers through Ian’s. A small, hopeful smile plays on his lips. Ian can’t help but mirror it.

For once, it feels like they can make it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [mickeymilkchild](http://mickeymilkchild.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
